Crusade of Tears: A Novel of the Children's Crusade (The Journey of Souls Series)

by C. D. Baker

  Heinz said, “I remember m’father showing me a hunter in the sky.”

  “Ah, yes, Heinz, that would be Orion, the hunter. I fear he is at rest, though readying to rise. He is seen better in the later months. M’poor memory fails me to find all the others of God’s story, but I know of one called Gemini which means ‘Christ the King.’ Now look straight to the north and low in the sky and you’ll find some bright stars that are part of the famous Leo which is—”

  “I know of it!” exclaimed Frieda. “’Tis the lion.”

  “Good! Regulus marks its heart; that sickle shape marks its head. Leo brings us all the way around to the beginning, and the tail of the lion touches Virgo. Leo, of course, is the Lion of Judah.”

  The children looked puzzled.

  “The Lion of Judah is the Christ!”

  They smiled and clapped.

  “And more. The star named Regulus means ‘treading under foot.’ And so shall the Lion of Judah someday tread His enemies underfoot. Oh, I wish mine eyes stronger and m’memory clearer, my children, for there is much more to teach you, but that is all I can do for now.”

  Karl gazed speechlessly at the silent sky above, intrigued by Pieter’s lesson. “I never knew the stars were speaking to me, Pieter. I never knew what a treasure has been over my head each night I sleep!”

  “Indeed, my son,” Pieter answered. “It is important that we look up sometimes; that we look beyond the steps of our own little journey.”

  Chapter 24

  BOOTY AND A GOOD BATH

  The floating crusaders took turns to sleep, as they passed the night with dreams sprinkled with starlight charms. And, at daybreak, when the shoreline seemed safer, they rowed to land for a hasty first-meal and a stretch. Wil granted a few hours sleep and then they were off again. The journey to Pavia was more than twenty leagues and it would be several days before they’d arrive. Indeed, the kindly river had hurried them a bit, but its purpose was more than efficient transport, for it had granted them a merciful rest on its own journey to the virile Po.

  On an early morning of a sunny mid-September day the pilgrims skillfully ruddered their crafts around a number of tiny islands and came within sight of the wharves of Pavia. Wil ordered his sailors to prepare for landing and, like seasoned seamen, they sat steady at their stations. Before sext they rowed rather deftly to the moorings and tossed their ropes to a pair of dockmen.

  Wil directed his fellows to keep a close watch of their cargo while he, Karl, and Pieter searched for the sailmaker’s shop as instructed by the clerk at Stresa. The three walked confidently along the wharf’s cobbled roadway and their eyes, ears, and nostrils filled with the sights, sounds, and peculiar smells crowding the busy docks.

  The wharf was busy and chaotic as workers grunted and strained at barrels of fish and crates of all sorts destined for parts all over Lombardy and beyond. Kegs of ale, wooden boxes of smoked meats and cheeses, flasks of red wine, and bales of carded wool were heaved from rocking boats and loaded on carts yoked to weary horses and a few oxen.

  Karl stopped and peered into the dark, mysterious eyes of a small group of Syrian merchants who smiled at him from under silk turbans. Their robes were brightly colored, ample and soft. Each of them bowed at the two boys who bowed awkwardly in return. But Wil could not but stare at the curved knives that were secured under the foreigners’ sashes. He had heard of these weapons from the old men of Weyer. He whispered to Karl, “These are infidels! These are the enemies of all Christendom. What business do they bring here?”

  One of the merchants heard the boy and laughed. “We are not infidels, my son. We bring fine spices and silken wares to your lords and masters. They think us their friends.”

  Wil was confused. “You … you speak our tongue?”

  “A thousand pardons, young master. Ja, I can speak as you. I judged by your fair hair you come from the far north, and, if I may presume to question you, I wonder what brings you to this place?”

  Wil’s face belied his sudden predicament. “I … I am travelling on Crusade to … to rescue Palestine from your people.”

  Karl gulped.

  The merchants bowed again. “Again, a thousand pardons. May your God smile graciously upon you and may His angels bear you safely … home.”

  Wil was not certain, but a quality in their tone seemed to betray some insincerity in their words! Yet the words themselves seemed right enough. The lad had a keen ear for a bold-faced barb but delicate insult was beyond his grasp. Unsure of himself, he simply gaped at the wry grins of the men who now bowed a final time and faded into the crowd.

  Pieter caught up to the two boys and nudged them affectionately with his staff. “Come, lads, we’ve business to attend.”

  “Did you not see those infidels, Pieter?” asked Karl.

  Pieter paused and surveyed the throng of unkempt hair and woolen hats until he found several turbans grouped by a merchant’s table. “Ah, those, those … uh … infidels, aye. They have been bringing their wares from Palestine and beyond for hundreds of years. They mean you no harm.”

  “But they are infidels, Pieter!” protested Karl. “Our enemy.”

  Pieter sighed, wishing for a moment that all the world could be governed by such simplicity, foolish as it was. He answered, “I fear ideas as that are oft more the enemy. Perhaps their armies do us harm, but these men are simply feeding their families as do we.”

  Karl and Wil shook their heads. “Nay,” Karl mused to his brother, “the old man’s off the mark. They’d be devils in sandals.” The two gaped at the olive-skinned travelers with contempt. “Their skin is nearly black and their noses are long and hooked and I saw fire in their eyes—the look of Lucifer, methinks.” Karl folded his arms.

  Wil nodded. “Ja. They needs be driven off the Holy Land. Our warriors are right to kill them.”

  Pieter grunted his disapproval but yielded the conversation. Some battles are best engaged another day. “Come, boys, follow me.”

  The priest led his two charges through Pavia’s busy wharf. They squeezed past the dyemaker’s shop and the silversmith, stumbled between tables of spices and barrels of wine until at last they found the chandler’s shop and the sailmaker’s. Pieter stopped and looked carefully past both buildings that the boats’ clerk had described and then pointed. “There, lads, there it is.”

  The three approached a modest, one-story wooden wharf office next to the sailmaker’s shop. A short- legged table sat in its doorway and several traders were arguing as the old man addressed them. “Gentiluomo, scusi.”

  The men stopped and stared at the tattered old man and his single-toothed grin. A beak-nosed man set his quill hard on the table and rose to his feet. Clearly annoyed, the man whined, “What business do you have? ”

  “We seek Constantino, a trader in wool, whose clerk hails from Stresa by Lago Maggiore.”

  A large-bellied man with curly brown hair stepped forward. “I am Constantino. What of it, beggar? ” he growled.

  “I bear thee good news, gentile signore. I have two barges waiting by the dock that are for you.”

  “Two boats?”

  “By faith. Thy clerk sent us with two boats and a shipment of your fine wool. I believe he is expecting you to return them with a cargo of your own?”

  Constantino was wary. His shipments had always been announced by the oaths of burly oarsmen, not the delicate words of a disheveled priest and two boys. “And who brought these boats to me?”

  “Ah, si, a fair question from a careful man of commerce. Truth be told, signore, you are setting your eyes upon three of us. The rest of our humble company are guarding your worthy crafts.”

  “My clerk trusted my boats to you! Now I know he is mad!” The merchant stormed past the three and hurried toward the dock. Pieter and the boys trotted behind the cursing merchant until he abruptly stopped and stomped his feet hard on the wooden planks. “What in God’s name?” He slammed his fist into his hand. “What sort of dim-witted, dung-brained, s—�
�

  Pieter cautioned him gently. “My lord, if you will, please regard the tender ears of those … bambini smiling at you.”

  “Humph,” fumbled the flustered merchant. “I cannot believe my clerk would have risked these barges with the likes of these. He shall surely hear of this. You could have sunk them; you could have lost them; you could have been robbed; you could have tipped these boats and lost the cargo. Aaahh! I cannot believe he has done this!”

  Wil could not understand the man’s words, but was annoyed at his rantings. “He ought fast his tongue and be grateful,” he grumbled.

  “Eh? What did you say, whelp?” bellowed Constantino.

  Pieter bowed. “The lad thinks you ought be rejoicing in gratitude, my lord.”

  “What sort of impudent brat is this?”

  “Signore, the lad is a bit weary and injured by your apparent displeasure. After all, he was the pilot who delivered your cargo safely from a great distance. And, my friend, he did not lose a single bale of wool.”

  “Be sure to tell him we now want our payment,” added Wil.

  “What was that?”

  Pieter paused. He wanted to win the man’s charity another way, and the boy’s impetuous manner was not helping in the least.

  “Go on, tell him, Pieter.”

  The old man smiled sheepishly at Constantino before taking Wil firmly by the arm. “But we were promised no payment,” he whispered.

  “What is being said here?” barked Constantino. “I’ve no time for secrets and have had enough of this whelp’s disrespect. I see it in his face and hear it in his tone.” With that the merchant landed a heavy slap on the side of Wil’s head. “I take no more disrespect from the likes of you!”

  Surprised, Pieter reddened with rage. He kept Wil at bay with one hand and with the other jabbed the end of his staff squarely into the chest of the merchant. He delivered his words with measured deliberation. “Thy behavior is not warranted. The lad simply reminded me that we were to receive our payment. He’d be right to ask it, so reach for thy purse and we’d be about our business.” The priest’s conciliatory tone had vanished.

  Constantino pushed Pieter’s staff away. “Payment? I pay nothing to you! We had no contract.”

  “I see. So, you claim to be worthy of our respect?” Pieter began loudly. “Ha! Thy very own deputy promised us payment and bound your word to it. He boasted thy family to be shrewd, but honorable. He wisely did not pay us then as a guarantee of delivery—shrewd indeed. Now I would expect you, sir, to be as honorable as he claimed.”

  Constantino turned a quick eye toward the crowd now gathering. He felt a sudden unease begin to creep over him. “Si, my family is honorable. All here would so agree.”

  “Ah, then, my honorable, respected friend, what sort of fools would bring thy cargo without promise of payment?”

  Constantino shifted on his feet. Certainly none would perform such a service without payment, and perhaps his clerk had been wise to hold wages from this lot until delivery was assured. “And how do I know what was negotiated?”

  Pieter felt the sealed letter in his pocket and pushed it in deeper. He fidgeted for a moment, cast an uncomfortable look at Wil, and continued. “You must needs … trust the word of this priest, my son. The payment was a modest shilling.”

  The merchant sighed. A shilling was not terribly unreasonable and its payment would protect his reputation—a meager price for a treasure as that. “Priest? Ha! Well, I suppose you’ve the words and robe of a churchman so I’d not be one to judge.” He smiled and spoke loudly for all to hear. “Of course I’ll pay the fee! Constantino is fair-minded and Christian. Here, Padre.” The man bounced a small coin-bag in his hand and pried his thick fingers inside. “Here’d be your shilling.” He began to count pennies into the hand of a secretary.

  “Ah, si… that was one shilling … per boat,” corrected Pieter.

  “A shilling per boat!” huffed Constantino. “I’ll not be scrumped for a shilling per boat. I’ll pay no more than a half-shilling!”

  “Ah, but thy honorable clerk promised us a full shilling,” insisted Pieter. “And I believe that’s what it ought be.”

  “But we never pay that!”

  “Ah, si. But thy clerk knew he was helping these bambini in their Holy Crusade. He claimed thy family to be shrewd, honorable … and charitable.”

  Constantino growled, stifling a string of oaths as he ordered his secretary to fetch his strongbox. The iron-strapped box soon was set at the man’s feet and he jammed his key into the padlock. In just a few moments he filled a pouch with a dubious count of pennies and slammed it hard atop a beer keg. “There, y’swindler, here’d be payment in full and charity besides!” he roared. “Constantino cheats none and helps the poor.” He lowered his voice and snarled at Pieter. “Now take your cheat’s money and get those whelps off my boats.”

  He ordered his secretary to check the cargo as Pieter bowed gratefully. “My good man, I must indeed thank thee and I wish God’s blessings …”

  “Oh, enough of God’s blessings, priest! I cannot afford any more of them. Now begone with you all.”

  Pieter’s eyes darted about the crowd. “Constantino, my son?”

  “Eh?”

  “It is good, at times, to hold to thrift, even in charity, for we must be prudent stewards of our plenty. And we are most humbly grateful for thy gift, frugal as it may be. I expect thee to be blessed in like manner. But…”

  “Si, si… go on!”

  “Ah … I scarce know how to put it.” Pieter grimaced and shook his head dramatically. “I wish not to embarrass thee before this host of thy friends, but if you could but add a few deniers more for the work of the Church, …”

  The red-faced merchant spun around and snapped, “You … you …” He could not help but notice the expectant crowd now leaning forward in eager anticipation of his answer. He then plunged his fingers again into his strongbox and threw a handful of coins at Pieter. “That is plenty enough for the Holy Church this day.” The man attempted a hasty retreat.

  Pieter watched the pennies spin at his feet and winked at his spellbound crusaders. He called after Constantino, “Oh, kind and honorable man?”

  The merchant froze in his steps. He feared to face the priest and answered where he stood. “Si? ” he boomed.

  “When thy boats are unloaded would you offer one last charity to these faithful servants? Could you find in thine gracious heart enough kindness to have some oarsmen row us over the river so we might continue our journey?”

  Constantino punched his fist into his hand and looked once again at the expectant crowd. Utterly vanquished, the man closed his eyes in defeat and nodded.

  Pieter thanked him again and turned to the audience. “If ever a Pavian could earn a blessing, it would be the honorable Constantino, I am certain of it.”

  The crowd melted away and the crusaders waited by the dock for their transport, each begging Pieter to tell the story of what had just happened. The old man sighed, not eager to share such a tale, and not particularly proud of his accomplishment. But theirs was not a companionship of secrets, and he told all.

  When he finished, Karl narrowed a hard look toward Pieter and scolded him. “I confess, Pieter, I sometimes think you to be the most godly man ever, and at other times I think y’to be but a wicked, black heart! We had no promise of payment—I believe y’to have lied. Is it not so?”

  Pieter was well aware of his occasional excesses in judgment, but the arrogant piety in the boy’s rebuke did not draw him to repentance. “’Do not be over-righteous, why destroy thyself?’”

  “Ha! You give me words of Scripture to defend your evil? By truth, Pieter, you do confound me so. I…”

  Wil had enough. “Still the little saint… is it to be St. Karl of Weyer?”

  The others laughed.

  “Wrong is wrong and I know I’m on the mark to—”

  Pieter interrupted. “Perhaps you are right to rebuke me, Karl, right indeed.�
�� The old man sighed. “Methinks you needs now take these coins and cast them into the river—that ought be proper penance.”

  Karl looked at the pennies and hesitated. “That isn’t the point. I just don’t know why y’made a fool of the man and used your wits as a weapon against him, all the while claiming the Church and things holy.”

  “When I was young, Karl, I would have beaten that arrogant belly-hog for striking your brother without cause,” Pieter replied. “But I am not young and so, instead of violence, I am left only with treachery; a wicked choice to be sure.” He extended his hand toward Karl. “Good lad, I meant not to steal from him, nor did my lies bring me joy. I was angered by his ways and thought him deserving of some justice. Perhaps I ought not be so inclined; perhaps ‘tis never a time for treachery.”

  Pieter paused and then smiled. “Ah, but cunning has its place.”

  Over the next days the crusaders marched south and slightly westward across the plain of Lombardy, passing by the stone-walled village of Sommo and crossing the wide Po River at a shallow ford. Their provisions were holding fairly well, as each day they successfully gleaned grains from the ample fields stretching in all directions. Though hand-threshing with heavy, flat rocks made for a husk-laden gruel, the crusaders were grateful for full bellies.

  The march was easy and took them to the narrow Scrivia River, which they followed southward toward Tortona. The sandy soil of the plain was kind to the crusaders’ worn feet and they arrived in good spirits at the ancient town. Though they were not discontented with their present lot, they nevertheless looked forward to what bounty might be waiting for them behind the walls just ahead.

  Wil led his company past an agreeable porter and into the town’s marketplace on the day before Sabbath. The folk were busy with preparations for St. Michael’s Day less than a week ahead. “I had been so certain,” said Wil, “that we would be at the sea long before St. Michael’s. I am beginning to wonder if there’d be a sea at all!”